


In Vino Veritas is a Cliche for a Reason

by monkiedude



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, M/M, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:10:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monkiedude/pseuds/monkiedude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written on July 24, 2009 for the STXI kink meme here: http://st-xi-kink.livejournal.com/7586.html?thread=18390178#t18390178</p>
<p>The prompt: <i>5 times McCoy had to hear a drunken confession from a crew member and the one time someone (Kirk) confessed something McCoy was more than happy to hear.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	In Vino Veritas is a Cliche for a Reason

_One._

"I wasn't sure what else to do for her, Doctor," whispered Rand, helping McCoy manhandle Lieutenant Uhura into one of the chairs in medbay. Uhura's head lolled forward; Rand shrugged in apology and tried to tug Uhura's skirt down modestly over her bared thigh.

"How about not letting her get like this in the first place," McCoy growled.

Uhura snorted, or hiccuped. It was hard to tell. "How about not talking about _her_ like she's not here," she snapped, trying to glare at them with red-rimmed eyes that wouldn't focus. "'m fine, just let me go back to my quarters."

McCoy jerked his head at the door and gave Rand her leave, waving her off when she mouthed ' _sorry_ ' at him as she took it. Wasn't Rand's fault; McCoy was, for one thing, pleased that the yeoman hadn't left Uhura alone in this state of intoxication -- no telling what might happen. For another thing, he was aware this was a long time coming. Spock had been away on New Vulcan for nearly a month. McCoy just wished, admittedly selfishly, that Uhura could have held off her inevitable bender for a night when McCoy _wasn't_ soundly beating Jim at a game of pool with interesting stakes.

"Listen, lady," he said. "I know you've got the tolerance of a Klingon twice your size, but even you can asphyxiate on your own vomit, so you're stuck with a babysitter until we sober you up enough to sleep it off." A quick scan of her blood alcohol content wasn't as high as McCoy thought it would be, so he took his time grabbing a hypospray and prepping a saline IV.

"Yeah, sleep it off _alone_ ," she muttered, but didn't complain at the pinch from the IV, just curled her legs up in the chair and rested her head on McCoy's jacket that he'd folded up as a pillow for her.

"So you'll be in the same situation as the rest of the ship, then." It was the most blatant lie that McCoy had told in recent memory, but he wanted desperately to forestall having to hear anything resembling _pining_ for Spock. Even (or especially) from a woman who generally had all her shit together, in McCoy's professional opinion.

Uhura laughed, at least, and McCoy busied himself with the tricorder again so he wouldn't have to watch her wipe at her eyes with a fist. "What, are you new?" She sighed. "Even if I was tempted, anyone not already paired off for the night is either on duty or already asleep."

Hearing Uhura admit to at least considering a partner other than Spock surprised McCoy enough that he muttered, "Not everybody," before he could think better of it. 

He didn't blame Uhura for looking at him as sharply as she could manage in her current state; it probably did sound like a (very pathetic) proposition, but he hadn't been thinking of himself. Which she seemed to figure out pretty quickly, damn her, when she started to smirk.

"Reaaaally," she said, drawing the word out. "He's flying solo this evening? So far, that is?" And damn her twice for knowing exactly who McCoy _had_ been thinking of, and knowing that he'd know that _she'd_ know, so she didn't even need to use names. "Huh."

"Lieutenant," McCoy said, warily, loudly, wondering if he'd misread the level of alcohol in her blood after all. "Did you happen to hit your head tonight, too?"

"What? No," she said, looking even more speculative. "You know, I've always been curious about what he'd do if I took him up on one of his offers."

 

_Two._

McCoy had gotten Uhura back to her quarters -- alone alone thank GOD alone -- but wanted to clean up the mess he'd left in the medbay before Chapel reamed him out in her own special, respectful way the next morning. He was in there for all of two minutes when the doors swished open and he had an armful of limp, boneless ensign. McCoy groped for his comm until he got a whiff of the kid's breath, and groaned.

"You, too? What are they _serving_ up there tonight?"

Chekov's eyes were less red, but more dilated, than Uhura's. "Pardon, Doctor?" 

"Never mind," McCoy grumbled. "A least you had the sense to come here yourself. Let's get you fixed up."

"Doctor, I apologize," Chekov said, pressing close to McCoy's side and putting a steadying hand flat against McCoy's sternum until they maneuvered him into the chair Uhura had occupied not an hour before. He even held his arm out willingly for the IV. "This is behavior unbecoming Starfleet, and I understand if you need to make a note in my- "

"For God's sake, kid, I'm not going to write you up for something every single human on this damn crew has done at least once. Just in the past _month_." McCoy sighed and handed Chekov an icepack, which Chekov gratefully and gracefully pressed to one of his flushed cheeks. "But I've also seen you drink Engineer Scott under the table before, so what gives?"

Chekov blushed a deeper pink and dropped his head, plucking at the soft black of his off-duty tunic (that was covered in a stain of unknown origin in more than one place). "I. Perhaps I am come down with something?"

"Yeah, _perhaps_." McCoy rolled his eyes, but wasn't about to press the issue. Let the kid keep his secrets: one terrifying drunken confession that evening was enough, as far as he was concerned.

Apparently, Chekov had other ideas, and seemed to interpret the care with which McCoy was treating his condition as McCoy being somehow equipped to deal with his _feelings._

"It's Commander Spock, sir," he blurted, and oh, McCoy was _so_ not equipped for this. "I -- I miss him, very much."

"For heaven's sake, kid," McCoy managed, wondering how wasted he'd have to get himself to forget this conversation, "better not let Lieutenant Uhura hear you; she'll have your balls for breakfast." 

Chekov's eyes got wide, and before McCoy knew it, were brimming with tears. "Oh, how selfish of me, I am certain that the lieutenant must be absolutely distraught -- I was thinking, of course, of how the mood on the bridge has changed during Commander Spock's leave and, as you know ... not that Lieutenant Oliver is not filling his duties admirably, naturally, sorry ... but I do appreciate the unique insight that Commander Spock would give often on my plotting of the telemetries; of course that cannot compare to his other, uh, duties, that Lieutenant Uhura is currently having to go without, in which I am certain that, like most things, Mister Spock's talents are unparalleled -"

McCoy decided to put out a basket of hyposprays by the door with a sign that read "help yourself." He couldn't stick around for any more of that.

 

_Three._

McCoy didn't get through the door.

"And in third grade? I cheated on my Earth history exam!" Scotty wailed, draped over McCoy's forearm and likely getting snot on his jersey. "In fourth grade, I stole my uncle Max's hair implant and I glued it on my face when I was Admiral Archer in my school play! In fifth grade, I knocked my sister Edie down the stairs and I blamed it on the dog!"

"Get a hold of yourself, man!"

" -when my mom sent me to summer camp for fat kids and then they served lunch I got replicated nuts and I pigged out and they kicked me out- "

"Good god."

"But the worst thing I ever done ... I mixed a pot of fake puke at home and then I went to this holovideo, hid the puke in my jacket, climbed up to the balcony and then, t-t-then, I made a noise like this: hua-hua-hua-huaaaaaaa -- and then I dumped it over the side, all over the people in the audience. And then -- this was horrible -- all the people started getting sick and throwing up all over each other. I never felt so bad in my entire _life!_ "

 

_Four._

When McCoy looked up from cleaning up the puke from the floor, Gaila was lounging against the doorframe watching him curiously.

"What do _you_ want," he grunted, wondering when, exactly, God would take pity on him and let him make it back to his own quarters in peace. "Don't tell me: saline drip, hypospray, and the godforsaken need to unburden yourself to a helpless doctor bound by the Hippocratic oath not to just leave you to your own devices?"

"Just the hypospray!" Gaila replied, perkily. "I don't know what they were putting in those Sunrises, but too much alcohol can suppress your responses to all _sorts_ of stimuli."

"That's ... true," McCoy said, squinting at her. "Uh, hold on just a second."

He went to disinfect his hands as Gaila hopped up on one of the cots, swinging her bare legs, crossing one boot-covered ankle over the other and then switching them. "No rush!" she chirped.

"How'd you know I was here, anyway?"

"Didn't," she shrugged. "I grabbed Christine and was going to bring her down to help, but Jim overheard me and said he thought you were already here. Or you had been, at least; he looked a little uncertain. For Jim. Uncertain, for Jim." She chuckled. "He also asked me to tell you, and I quote: _'If you leave the table in the middle of a game for over an hour, Bones, you can't expect all your balls to be in the same place when you get back.'_ Was that meant to be literal, or metaphorical?"

"Probably both," McCoy admitted, carefully pulling the collar of her top aside to press the hypospray against the column of her neck -- almost indigo rather than green in the low light of the medbay. "Don't worry about it."

"I won't," she promised, "as I have neither literal nor metaphorical balls with which Jim Kirk would concern himself."

The wistfulness in her voice stopped McCoy short, making him wonder -- and not for the first time -- just what the starship rumor mill had to say about that. Or Jim, in general. Or, hell: even McCoy himself, for that matter. He generally prided himself on being out of the loop, but he could admit there were times he wished he hadn't been so vocal about taking the high ground with respect to grist for that mill.

"Darlin'," he said. "I think you and I both know, that's not a prerequisite, or even necessarily a _positive_ , where Jim is concerned. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, you've got plenty of evidence to the contrary."

"Not personally," said Gaila.

"Excuse me?"

Gaila held out a hand in front of her face, palm down, and pretended to inspect her nails. "I said, I can't personally confirm or deny that Jim sleeps with females, as I haven't had the pleasure."

McCoy couldn't begin to imagine what his expression was like. "What?" He swallowed. "Please don't take this the wrong way, ma'am, but how in the _hell_ is that possible? I mean, he's him, and you're ... you." Gaila smiled, slowly, and ran her eyes down McCoy's torso, and back up; all of a sudden, McCoy felt about ten degrees warmer, and dizzy, and he shook his head. "Hey! Knock it off."

Her pout was attractive too, but McCoy crossed his arms over his chest and took two big steps away from her. "Fine," she sighed. "I don't have an answer to your question, anyway; I wish I knew, myself. We've certainly enjoyed one another's company, and back at the Academy, the day before Vulcan and the _Narada_ ... but, no -- much to my regret, if all the stories are to be believed -- my relationship with Jim has never been- consummated."

_Huh,_ McCoy thought, putting up with Gaila groping his ass just a little on her way out. _Would wonders never cease._

 

_Five._

"Lights," McCoy ordered, and got halfway through the door that time before he heard someone call, "Doctor?" from down the hall. "Christine?" he called back, watching with some surprise as she made her way closer with the help of her hand braced on the wall.

"Doctor," she grinned, falling against him with a delicate _whoops!_ "Hey. I caught you."

"Apparently," McCoy gritted out, jerking when one of her hands slipped under his jacket. "Hey. _Nurse Chapel_. I sincerely hope you weren't planning on administering a hypo to Gaila, yourself, or anyone else in this condition?" Not that it was rocket science, or that anything was likely to go wrong with the pre-measured hypos that McCoy kept in plentiful supply -- for good reason, apparently -- he just always thought Christine was too smart to take stupid risks like that.

She looked affronted, and he might have been scared at her reaction, if it weren't for her usually-neat blonde hair falling softly around her face except where it was caught over her ear with a large, orange-petaled flower. She looked too soft to be scary, for once. "Sir, you know I wouldn't," she said. "When Gaila didn't come back, I figured she found you and you took care of her."

McCoy allowed himself a fleeting moment to wonder where Gaila _had_ gone, before re-focusing on Christine. "I did," he admitted. "Did you need something, honey? I'm getting the idea I'm missing the party of the year up there, but I'm trying to escape and get some sleep while I can."

"It's winding down," she yawned, snaking her arm under McCoy's shirt, tight against his ribs, then dropping her cheek to his breastbone.

He froze, then lifted one hand to rest gently on the top of her head, and fumbled behind him with the other to re-open the medbay. "Okay, sweetheart, how about we get you a hypo first, alright?" He felt her mumble something against his chest, and duck-walked the pair of them inside. "Let go, darlin'."

She did, blinking up at him, but as soon as he turned around to prep the hypospray, she pressed her body against his once again, chest-to-back. "Say _darlin'_ again."

"Oh, Christine," he sighed to himself, having second thoughts about administering any treatment that would help her remember this in the morning. "Don't do this."

"Don't do what," she said, her voice muffled in the fabric of his coat, enough that he couldn't hear the tone in her voice. He was, for all intents and purposes, flying blind. And everyone knew that Leonard McCoy hated flying.

He covered her hand with his, squeezed once, then disentangled himself from her embrace. "Just don't, okay?"

" _You_ don't," she retorted, stepping back and pushing her hand through her hair. She was flushed, but looked more resigned than angry. Her voice was steady. "You, don't. You want things to stay the same way between us? I do too, I really do. I'm happy with what I've got. But you stop with the _sugar_ and the _sweetheart_ and the goddamn _darlin'_ , okay? So I don't start wanting more. And _don't_ ," she glared, "don't you dare give me any speech about if things had been different, either."

The endearments hadn't been intentional, hadn't been personal; but, he realized, that was the problem. So McCoy nodded, and waited until he could be sure when he spoke it would come out right. "Whatever you want, Christine."

 

_And one._

Finally, back in his own quarters, McCoy yanked his jacket off and dropped it on the floor before leaning back against the door and closing his eyes. He'd gone halfway up to the recreation deck first, intending to say goodnight to Jim, apologize for abandoning their game, and schedule a rematch, when he realized that the chances that Jim was still there were ludicrously slim. And he was tired.

He toed off his boots, reached back to tug his shirt up and over his head, and opened the door to his bedroom.

Which was dimly lit, and not empty.

"Bones!" Jim grinned, clad only in his briefs and laying spread out on his stomach on top of the blankets. "There you are; good. I was beginning to think maybe you weren't coming back, tonight, and to be honest, there's no telling where I might end up if I tried to find my own room right now."

"Oh, god, not you too," McCoy muttered, but he couldn't help running a hand over Jim's head and over his shoulder as he brushed past to step into the bathroom. He hadn't expected Jim to be there at all, but tired as he was, he wasn't going to protest. "You need something for that?"

"Nah," said Jim, rolling smoothing onto his back, lacing his hands together behind his neck, and lifting up just enough in a half-crunch to watch McCoy. "Feels kinda good."

McCoy laughed around his toothbrush. "I bet. Just don't complain to me in the morning, okay?"

"You're not the only doctor on this ship, Bones, and apparently, I have some clout, so that's way less scary than the fact that you have a pink toothbrush."

"Because someone kept thinking the blue one was his!"

"Sharing toothbrushes isn't gross," Jim decreed, finally relaxing back onto the bed and stretching his arms out straight above him. McCoy watched him in the mirror for the full two minutes it took to finish brushing, rinse, and spit, before he shut off the light.

He shucked his pants, then sat down at the edge of the bed to pull off his socks. "I thought you might be with Gaila," he started, feeling the bed shift as Jim moved but not looking back at him. "She shared some interesting information with me in the medbay and then took off like a woman possessed."

"And you thought she was on the hunt for me, specifically?" McCoy shrugged, and Jim hummed a little before he continued. "I saw her in the bar and told her where to find you, but I came down here right after she left, so."

McCoy couldn't help either his grin or the mild tightening in his chest when Jim said that so casually, but it also didn't give him any answers about what might have happened if Jim had lingered, or Gaila had been a little faster. The bed shifted again, then, and McCoy felt Jim's hot, dry palm press broadly against the small of his back.

"You want to tell me what this is about?"

" _You_ want to tell me what this is about?" McCoy countered, leaning back into the touch for a brief moment before he rolled over on his stomach next to Jim.

Jim might not have been sober, but he wasn't dumb, and they knew each other too well to pretend they couldn't speak the same language. He smiled, softer than his grin. "Didn't have anywhere else I wanted to be," he confessed.

McCoy knew the feeling.


End file.
